Snitches and Broomsticks
by The Half Mad Muggle
Summary: Severus Snape is having a little bit of bother with a non-sentient object.


**Snitches and Broomsticks**

Hello all. This is a step outside of the norm for me, but it is for a very good cause. My best friend is trying to get Quidditch sanctioned as an official sport - yes, she really is that awesome - in her home state of Texas (I think it's a pretty big place. I don't know. I'm British…). Now, not only is she awesome, but could you imagine how brilliant that would be? Little people playing Quidditch? I mean like, little people? Eeek, it would be adorable! One day we might be able to play it over here - but for now, here is a petition that if you would sign, you would make her day and you would make Quidditch REAL! (Especially if you live in Texas. Those signatures are worth…like…a hug from Snape. You see how valuable they are?)

http:\\ www. ipetitions. com/petition/txquidditch/signatures

(If you cannot see it here, I have posted it on my blog too, which is in my profile.)

Thank you so much in advance, this means so much to her, and thus it means the world to me too. Now, enjoy the story, and if you would sign…I'll love you forever!

Yours, with so much gratitude ~ SS19

* * *

><p><strong>Snitches and Broomsticks<strong>

It was the middle of the summer holidays, and everyone was away from Hogwarts. Everyone except Severus Snape, that was. He had stayed to finish a research project, and although he had had some company in the form of Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall for a few weeks, the former had gone to visit long lost relatives somewhere in Plymouth and the latter had returned to some part of Scotland to see her sister. The other teachers were visiting family or staying with friends or travelling around the world. He finally had the castle to himself, which meant he could indulge in the one hobby, the one past time, that he could never admit to.

Now, Severus Snape was, by rights, a slightly peculiar soul with many hobbies. He liked brewing, for example, no matter what it did to his hair. He also liked spending hours colouring in drawings, because he liked the perfection — and not going outside of the lines. Not to mention what he liked to do on a Friday night when alone in his quarters. But this hobby was perhaps the most odd.

He had found the perfect spot by accident a few months before and had been looking forward to utilising it for much of the summer term. So today, while the skies were clear (which was a rarity in Scotland) and the wind was low (another rarity), he would go out and enjoy himself. Just once. And then he would be happy to trap himself in his quarters and continue to brew. And maybe wash his hair once in a while.

He stood on top of the hill and put the box down, not yet ready to open it. It was incredibly warm, which surprised him. August was never normally warm. Not in Scotland. He undid the catch on the box and smiled down at the small gold ball that was obviously yearning to be free — sometimes it reminded him of himself when he was being his most melodramatic — letting the ball take to the sky and disappear. Not for too long though, because he planned to catch it.

That was, of course, easier said then done. Catching a snitch, he supposed, was not supposed to be easy, otherwise everyone would be playing this game. And although he pretended to despise Quidditch, that was another of his personality quirks. He said he disliked something, when actually he meant the opposite. For example, he 'despised' Albus Dumbledore, when in fact the man was one of the few people Severus truly cared about. He 'disliked' teaching Potions, when he actually rather enjoyed about. He 'detested' the sunshine, when he truly liked the caress against his pale skin.

But he did absolutely, irrevocably, undeniably hate Harry Potter. That was one extreme that was absolutely true.

He picked up his old broomstick, perhaps not as fast as those that zipped around above his head four times a week when he watched his Slytherins train for their matches — and then win them — but still good enough for sitting on. It was reliable, and he did like to feel safe when dangling several metres in the air. He put one leg over the broomstick, gripped onto the handle, and kicked the ground to take off.

It was the initial rush of adrenaline when entering the air that always thrilled him the most. Once up in the sky, at his optimum height, he liked looking down and knowing he was taller than the trees. He could see everything from up here, silent as the wind, and that was good too. Being a spy, he liked to be almost invisible. One day, he hoped Albus would let him have that Invisibility Cloak he had so desperately wanted for so long. Until then, he simply had his broomstick. He surveyed the castle from a distance, looking at how the sunlight transformed the marble into something so beautiful. He smiled at his home, shaking his black hair back from his eyes and daring to take his hands off the broom, knowing it and trusting it and not falling off it.

He had discovered that he liked flying many years ago when he had been a child. He had thought about trying out for the Slytherin Quidditch team but…the Marauders and their constant teasing had shattered his confidence and instead he had been forced to watch his House defeated because their Seeker was appalling. That was one of the reasons why he got so much pleasure out of watching Minerva's team be beaten almost every year. He could not deny though that the Potter boy had talent at being a Seeker —

Speaking of which, the Snitch had suddenly decided to play a game with the thirty-something old Potions Master, whizzing just out of reach. Severus, sights now fixed on the golden ball, zoomed after it, feeling the wind whip through his hair and his robes and squinting slightly against the breeze, never losing sight of the ball. The Snitch was fast enough, and also slightly more daring than the reserved teacher who knew that dying in a flying accident was not what he wanted on his headstone, really, but he was also not quite willing to be defeated by some non-sentient object that was simply enchanted. Fine to be beaten by a Dark Lord with some sort of brain, but certainly not a Golden Snitch. So when it went close to the castle, as if taunting him, he followed with renewed determination.

The Snitch plummeted with very little warning, drawing Severus into a dive that reminded him once of one he had seen a student attempt and get horribly wrong. The crunching of bones on gravel and sand had been slightly nauseating. He edged closer to the end of the broom, reaching out one hand — but the Snitch was smarter than that and pulled upward, forcing Severus to follow, his robes brushing the ground as he did so. He jerked his broom upward, knuckles more white than usual as he narrowed his eyes and dropped slightly lower than the Snitch, just in case it decided to do a similar trick.

He was a Slytherin, after all, and decided that he needed tactics to break the will of this non-sentient ball of gold that had no brain and yet was still testing him and his reflexes. So he pulled back from his speeding journey and slowed right down, hovering above one of the turrets of the castle. He waited for the Snitch to stop and come back toward him. He just had to be patient — something he was talented at, patience — and —

He reached out for the Snitch and got the manoeuvre completely wrong, overbalancing and slipping from the side of his broom. With a cry of fright and frustration, he managed to catch hold of the broom and was left dangling by one leg and one arm, not quite sure how graceful that appeared. From this particular angle, the ground was quite far away, and yet he wasn't quite ready to even attempt swinging back onto the broomstick. The blood rushed to his head as he gasped for breath and attempted to calm his raging nerves, once again picturing the gravestone that said something along the lines of '_Severus Snape, survived detection from Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore's constant fussing, only to be killed in action by a Snitch'_ and knowing that was not an option.

The Snitch decided that hovering near to his ear was another interesting strategy, clearly unafraid of the famous Snape temper. He was not able to reach out and grab it, so he simply glared and snarled at it. The Snitch was brave for a non-sentient gold ball of metal with two flapping wings attached and simply continued to hover, annoying him with the buzzing noise.

So he counted to three in his head and swung himself up onto the broom, managing to right himself and feeling relieved when his lunch returned to its rightful place in his stomach. He gripped the broom and looked at the Snitch, "You're mine." He threatened, and the Snitch sped away.

He followed at breakneck pace, pushing his poor broomstick as far as it would go, as fast as it could possibly be, the wind hurtling past him, and yet he would not blink, because he was gaining on the Snitch. The Snitch went downward, and so did he, this time not so easily fooled, and he was not going to let it go. He could hear the roar of the crowd as they watched him head after the Snitch, the most famous Seeker of all time at Hogwarts, claiming the title for his House — the Snitch was there, so unbearably close, and he thought he would be able to reach out and grab it —

He pulled one hand from the broomstick and without warning launched himself forward, fingers outstretched, and they wrapped around the ball and he would not let go as he pulled himself back onto his broom, the Snitch beating its wings furiously against his fingers, and yet he would not let it go because it was defeated, and he had won! He had caught the Snitch, and won the game! He allowed himself a moment of celebration, "And Severus Snape catches the Snitch!", raising the Snitch in a clenched fist into the air, hovering only a few metres above the ground. He looked down at the Snitch, wishing that he had been watched as he had conducted that wonderful movement…

Suddenly he became aware that he was being watched. He turned his head and suddenly saw a small crowd of people, small because he was still in the air. But even this far away, he could make out the bright magenta of Albus' robes and the green of Minerva's and the blue of Pomona's and…

He wondered if there was any sensible reason to explain why he was wearing Quidditch robes, clutching the Golden Snitch, on a broomstick, several metres in the air, having just celebrated with a rather unreserved dance routine and a shout to the Heavens about what a wonderful Seeker her was, to the crowd of people watching him. He lowered his hand and looked at the Snitch, which for a non-sentient ball of metal with two wings attached seemed rather smug.

Then he wondered if it was an Azkaban offence to Oblivate the whole teaching faculty of Hogwarts School...


End file.
